Consequences
by Hayden Avery
Summary: Voldemort lost, but only after everyone died. Dangerous and difficult magic takes Harry to a new reality where he died as an infant with Lily Potter. However it backfires slightly—he finds a world where he was born a year later than in his own, a year below his previous peers at Hogwarts and instead befriends Ginny, the girl he never took the time to know in his own world.
1. A Dead World

**"All of our actions, no matter how small, have a consequence...somewhere, somehow." **

**Disclaimer—I own absolutely no rights to HP at all and am purely writing this for my own joy, and hopefully a few readers as well, only.**

**Chapter One—A Dead World **

Sweat dripped down his brow, mixing with the tears that he refused to acknowledge has he stabbed viciously at the earth again with his shovel.

The summer heat and a rare drought had left the ground hard—difficult to dig graves in.

There was a fantastical sunset that would have been beautiful had he been able to appreciate it. The dying rays of light glanced off of the pond a little ways off and the pile of ashes where a crooked house had once sat not too long ago.

He ran an unsteady hand over his hair, more out of habit than actual need. It wasn't as if he would be seeing anyone to flatten it for, but he still did it anyways.

"_...old seasons pass slow...it is my time to go..." _ Harry's poor singing stumbled has his breath hitched, a pain in his side from the sob caught in his throat that he would no release.

The first time he had heard the old tune had been at Remus's funeral, so many years ago. They had all sung it together then, tears dripping down onto their black mourning clothes as they sang the a wizard's last song. A song that had been so part of their culture it had almost turned into folk lore, the folk lore of a culture so ravaged by war it had hardly anything left to give.

Harry hadn't known the words then, he hadn't even made an effort to pretend he did has everyone else sung it around him. He had been too preoccupied with the casket they were lowering into the ground and with who was in it. It hadn't been until many burials later that he could recite every lyric.

"_...give the magic back...every soul's price..." _He tried to dig deeper into the soil, his voice just a broken whisper has he sang slowly and out of tune, taking long pauses between the verses.

He took a deep shaky breath. _"...until we meet again... under the old tree...just l—lay m—me..." _He finally gave into his grief and fell to his knees, the shovel falling beside him. Breaking down into racking sobs he sat hunched over the whole he had made for some time, his tears flowing into it.

The ten headstones around him stared back at him, unmoving and as always with nothing to say but a hollow epitaph written hastily in the middle of a war.

OoOoOo

It was still early in the morning and Harry lay deep asleep in Hagrid's hut near the edge of the forrest. It hadn't been Hagrids for some time but he still thought of it that way. He himself had lived there for a little over a year.

Blearily opening his eyes he decided just to lay there for a few more minutes. Often in those times between deep sleep and full wakefulness he could pretend that everything was alright and that he would find a very different world awaiting him when he woke instead of the reality he had.

Finally he groggily climbed out of the cot and walked over to the stove to begin making a small breakfast. He didn't bother with shaving or attempting to brush his hair, like most of his days he wouldn't see anyone living anyways, so he didn't see the point.

He walked outside after eating and made his way to Hogsmeade, nothing but a ghost town in the aftermath of the war.

Still, after only a year it did have the supplies he needed. He never stayed long though, it was too painful of a reminder to see it so deadened and overgrown as if people had never lived there at all.

It was a beautiful day, clearer and cooler than it's recent predecessors but with the certain zeal summer always carried.

Returning to the school, Harry pushed open the bent, damaged iron gate and strode up the path. He knew he could have just apparated in, but sometimes he liked to pretend the wards were still intact.

It would always feel wrong to him to apparate in Hogwarts, even if it had become entirely possible.

It was peaceful, except for all of the haunting memories, and more quiet than it had ever been. He entered the school through the door in the east side, the main entrance was entirely collapsed, and kept walking toward his destination.

The gargoyle had long been destroyed and there was no need for a password anymore, he simply walked up the spiral stairs into the old office that held so much history.

Professor Dumbledore, or his portrait at least, looked disappointed to see him. He always was.

"Harry," he commented sadly, the one word conveying a whole conversations worth of expression.

"Headmaster."

Albus smiled tiredly, grief lining his face even in the portrait, "You are not a school boy any longer, call me Albus."

Harry nodded, the headmaster had requested that of him every visit but he never did change. It would be like admitting that times _had _changed and that when he left the room Hermione and Ron would not be waiting for him in the Gryffindor Common room, and that was something he did not want to remember.

"I finally finished rebuilding the quidditch pitch." Harry said, staring down at his hands as he took his customary seat in the chair facing the portrait.

"Good, I hope some day more children can enjoy them." Albus commented quietly, the rest of the portraits were always tactful enough to leave the two of them alone during their chats with each other.

"Me too," Harry answered quietly.

They stared at each other a moment before Albus began delicately, "Have you given any thought to what I told you—"

Harry interrupted him, "About leaving you mean?"

Albus sighed, "I do not think you will find happiness here Harry, you need to start anew."

"I don't want to talk about it." He replied tersely.

"Harry—"

"I don't want to—"

Albus interrupted, actually seeming flustered for once. "You're just turned nineteen, you have your whole life ahead of you! Don't squander it by dwelling on the past."

"I'm not _squandering _it!" Harry snapped back.

"What do you call this then? Coming in here and spending your days with only the company of a dead man's portrait—"

"WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW!" Harry exploded, his hands clenched into fists.

"ALL YOU DID WAS FUCK UP AND DIE, LEFT THE REST OF US TO GO TO HELL AND BACK—AND FOR _WHAT?" _He took a step back breathing heavily.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, for the first time lost for words.

"Good day headmaster," he muttered, turning on his heel and leaving the room before Dumbledore could even try to say anything else.

He walked without thinking and found his feet leading him to the library. He could have laughed had it not hurt so much, he had been wishing for Hermione's advice after-all. How fitting that his mind had led him there. She had always been the older sister he had never had, and he wasn't sure what to do anymore without her guidance.

The books had never been re-stacked and thousands of them lay in a heaping mess about the floor amongst collapsed book shelves that had once towered above him.

He walked through the pile, unable to stop himself from stepping on a few books with how crowded the floor was.

He reached down with a sad smile and picked up _Hogwarts A History, _where it was laying amongst the mess, fond memories coming back to him. He remembered Hermione's smile, so big he had been sure if would crack her face in half, when Ron had recited the introduction of it at their wedding.

It hadn't been a real wedding, not really. It had just been the three of them in an old abandoned church, both their parents had been dead by that point and there hadn't been time to try to find Ron's remaining brothers. So it had just been Harry acting as the sole witness while his two best friends stood at the alter and pledged to love each other all their lives.

They had honored that promise, even if it had only been for six months until they died together—trying to save him. In his mind they were as married as any couple had ever been.

He swallowed, feeling something bitter rising in him. Ron and Hermione should have had decades together. The should have had little red haired children with buck teeth who could recite books at the age of three and loved the cannons. He would have been the godfather he was sure.

They all would have had lunch at Molly and Arthur's house on Sundays.

The twins would have made all kinds of inappropriate jokes, Percy would have lectured anyone who would listen, Charlie would have showed off his newest burn marks while Bill and Fleur would have kept doing disgustingly mushy things and Ron's little sister Ginny—well he wasn't sure what she would have done, but regardless it all would have been perfect at that lunch. That he was sure of.

He put the book down, looking sadly around and walking further into the room until he reached the window that showed the view out over the grounds.

There was a book sitting there, on the window sill as if it had been placed there with the utmost care. He picked it up curiously, noting it's plain black binding that held no title.

Opening he read on the cover page,

Traveling Dimensions

_The Journal of Herbert William Scott_

His brow furrowed has he took in the description. He had certainly never come across that book in the library before.

He looked back out across the grounds over to where his favorite tree was by the lake. Taking in the nice day for the first time in a long time, Harry made the trek of the castle and sat down on the edge of the water, book in hand and ready to read.

OoOoOo

Harry didn't leave the tree for hours, it was late into the night that he finally burst back into the headmaster's office.

"Did you know about this?" Harry demanded, holding up the book in front of Albus's portrait.

He didn't give the headmaster a chance to respond has he paced in front of the portrait.

"How could you let me live like _this_, if this book is real, if _this _is possible..." Harry trailed off, a slightly crazed look in his eyes.

"Harry that magic is dan—"

"Oh and fighting Voldemort has a bloody teenager was safe?" He asked derisively, stopping finally to face Albus.

Albus sighed, "Harry this is not the answer. Leave this place Harry...find a new home somewhere. Don't try this. I fear it will only bring you more pain."

Harry however wasn't really listening. "You might be a portrait, but you're still brilliant. I want you to help me with this Albus," he said, using the headmaster's first name for the first time.

"Harry—" He began to protest.

"_You owe me this much."_ Harry hissed, glaring up at the portrait.

They stared at each other a long time.

"_If _this doesn't kill you Harry—it still won't be a clean slate. You read the entire journal?"

"Yes."

Albus nodded, "I believe Mr. Scott was correct in that one can only go to a dimension where they either were never born or for some reason never existed. There is no way of knowing what kind of world you might enter Harry, it could be worse than this one."

"Nothing can be worse than this one," Harry refuted stubbornly.

Albus shook his head, "I also believe Mr. Scott was correct in that one is sent to a dimension where they are needed. Where a purpose they were supposed to fulfill is still required of them in either world..._you know _what that purpose would be for you."

"What, is that all I'm ever good for?" Harry asked bitterly.

Albus looked at him sadly, "You do have a destiny Harry, leaving this world will not allow you to escape it I suspect. Only repeat it."

"I don't care," Harry replied.

"I'll face him again, I don't care. I don't...I just...I have to see them again...all of them." He said, the previous anger gone has he simply looked exhausted, like a defeated man.

Albus paused, something in his demeanor changing from absolutely against to considering.

"It is a possibility that your knowledge of this world might make little difference in that one, if it is as different from here as it could be."

"I know, but at least I can take the knowledge I do have with me. Even if the horcruxes _are_ different, I'll still have all the magic I learned." He said earnestly.

"You forget Harry, I'm not merely mentioning the horcruxes," he said.

"Then what do you mean?" Harry asked tiredly.

"The people Harry. They might not be _who _you are looking for, they could be entirely different, they might not be there at all."

Harry sat down in his chair, thinking a long time before he responded.

"Well they certainly aren't here, and I'd rather at least try."

OoOoOo

Harry hadn't been back to the burrow since he finished with the last grave. It was too sad to see the ashes of where he once called home and the tombstones of those he had called his family.

Albus had told him to take a week to think it over more, he had told Harry that he wanted him to be certain in whatever choice he made before he would offer any aid with the magic.

And he would need aid, it was more complex than any magic he had ever seen before.

He was almost at the end of the week however and yet still hadn't found the conviction he was looking for.

He walked up the hill to where the ten tomb stones rested.

"Hello," he said, a little breathlessly and unsure of what to do.

He dropped to his knees, kneeling in the grass in front of Ron and Hermione's.

"I—I um, I really miss you. All of you," he said, looking at the other graves as well.

"I wish I could...I wish you could tell me what to do now—because I really don't know."

He was silent a while, "Is it even worth it? Even if everything goes perfect, which it probably won't, I mean, it's me after-all—since when have I ever been lucky," he laughed bitterly.

"Even then...it still won't be _you_...I mean it will be, but it will be some other you. You'll still be here, and I still will have failed all of you and, how will it even matter?" He frustratedly, tearing some grass from the ground with a clenched fist.

He sighed, placing his head in his hands.

"I can't save you...any of you..." he repeatedly brokenly. He looked over at his wand, something he had considered many times coming once again to the forefront of his mind.

"Maybe I should just join you."

But just like every other time he thought of suicide he stopped. Thoughts of how many people had had their lives torn away kept him from taking his own, it would be a dishonor to them even though it was so often his greatest wish.

He looked at Ron's grave. "I wonder if the other you can play chess has well?" He asked, a watery smile on his face.

He sat there, looking at them all and reading the epitaphs,most of which he had had to write himself in the absence of anyone else.

"They won't be you," he concluded sadly, speaking his thoughts out loud.

"But...maybe I can help them. I'm not doing anything here anymore. Even if they're not you, maybe I can save them. Keep this—" He gestured toward all the graves, "—from happening to them."

He stood, ready to face Albus. "I—I think it's worth trying." He explained, looking at them one last time as he walked away.

He paused though, a hesitation he could not explain has he came to the oldest one.

_Ginevra M. Weasley_

_Beloved Daughter and Sister_

_August 13 1981—July 7 1995_

_May she find the wings in heaven that she searched for in life. _

Mr. Weasley had written the last statement. Harry remembered Molly how had been too distraught to even think of funeral arrangements. She had sat there in a defeated state, unbelieving at the violent manner her youngest child had been ripped from her arms with.

Harry had always thought Ginny was a silly little girl, the way was charmed by Tom Riddle and how she blushed and stuttered around him when she had never even known him, only the legend of the 'boy who lived.'

He hadn't really known her either though, he conceded, looking down at her grave. All he had really known about her was who her family was it seemed, when he tried to argue with himself he could think of no other real facts about her. To him she had always been 'Ron's little sister.'

He would never however forget the guilt he had felt though when he learned she died at Diagon Alley during the first attack of the Dark Lord's new reign, while trying to buy him a birthday present. He the boy who saw her as 'Ron's little sister,' and nothing more than a minor, blushing annoyance.

And although he had never been friends with her, standing there staring at her grave, he felt more than ever a sense that he _had _to try to find this new world. The old one really did have nothing left for him any longer.

**Please Review.**

**I have been writing on and off on this story for a while and have finally decided to post it. It will not be my priority for a while (at least not until A Different Kind of Brother is finished) but I will try to update has much as I can. Many of the chapters are already written but they do need some editing that I'm working on and I want to make sure that each chapter is what I really want before I do post it. Please let me know what you think so far. **


	2. The Beginning

**Chapter Two—The Beginning **

Harry sat in the old headmaster's office, or at least what used to be it, eating a very out of date lemon pop and thinking far harder than he liked to.

"How is it—how does anyone even know if Scott is right?" Harry asked.

"We don't Harry. Not definitely anyhow." Albus paused, looking at the book in Harry's hands.

"This magic is perhaps one of the most mysterious and untested there is. However, considering that he did travel to _several _different dimensions leads me to believe that most of his hypotheses are correct. There were always certain likenesses or...rules one could say, about each place." He explained what they had already been discussing for hours.

Harry leaned back further in the old wooden chair across from the portrait, his feet resting on the headmaster's desk, something that many of the portraits had loudly complained about. After hours of discussing complicated hypothetical situations, Harry found he didn't care and kept his feet there.

"He always went to a dimension where his other self had died," Harry said, holding up a hand to count.

"Or had never been born," Albus corrected. "Out of the seven he visited there was the one he had never existed in."

"Right," Harry nodded. "Still, every dimension he went to was one where his other self wasn't?"

"Correct. He believed, I think he was right, that it was likely impossible to travel to a dimension containing one's other self. It would create an imbalance."

Harry nodded without really giving it much thought, he didn't particularly want to get into the 'whys' of dimension travel, just learning the 'whats' was enough to give him a headache.

He looked around the office, now coated with a good layer of dust like it had been for a while.

"But I'm more likely to get one where I—I mean...y'know the other me—died, right?"

"It seems so from Mr. Scott's travels but anything is possible Harry."

"What if the other me just died and...this could go really badly couldn't it?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded, "I'm afraid all you can do is hope for the best."

"Because that's worked out so well in the past," Harry muttered sarcastically.

He sighed, shaking himself out of his line of thinking and continued.

"So...won't go to a dimension where there's another me. What exactly was the aging thing again?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Scott began traveling from this world when he was eighty-eight, the first world he traveled to he found himself in the body he had when he was twenty two, the age his other self would have been had he not died in that world ten years previously. He was always the age his other self _would_ have been."

"Right...what about the world where he was never born?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"His body was aged exactly how he had left from the world before that, since there was no reference I suppose in that world. He nor I never deduced a reason for the aging between dimensions, magic is truly mysterious sometimes." Albus added pensively.

"But he was always the same age has the people he knew right? In the same generation?" Harry questioned.

"For the most part yes. He did find in the fifth world he traveled to that he was five years younger than his brother, the one that he had been one year younger than in every other world." Dumbledore explained.

Harry frowned, he didn't want to be years younger or older than all of the friends that he was there to save in the first place.

Seeing his distaste Dumbledore added, "But generally he was always the same age as his peers, it is likely you will be the same relative age in the other world."

They were silent for a while until Harry spoke again, "I can repeat the ritual again though? I mean if the world I end up in turns out to be nothing like what I'm looking for."

Albus nodded, "You can. But I should warn you Harry, this idea will likely not be how you imagined it when you arrive. No matter how many times you jump, you will never find a world just like this one except untouched by Voldemort. It is impossible, they will all be different. I encourage you to seriously consider each world before you ever pass one by."

"Yeah...I will."

Harry sprung one of the old trinkets on Dumbledore's desk in his hand, his expression troubled.

"You really think that wherever I go, _he'll _be there?" He asked, a little too nonchalantly as he didn't look up from the object he spun his palm,

"I believe it is likely. Every dimension that Mr. Scott went to he was taken there for a purpose that needed to be fulfilled, one that he needed to do there that his other self had either failed at or never had the chance to attempt." Albus explained, his voice sympathetic, something that irrationally annoyed Harry has he contemplated what he said.

He kept spinning the thing in his hand, ignoring everything else for a moment.

When he spoke again he looked up with a determination written across his face that few people had ever seen, "Alright then."

OoOoOo

**A Year Later**

The office still had layers of dust around the windows and other areas that the house elves had once kept so immaculate. The center however, while not clean, no longer had the abandoned forlorn look the rest had as it had been in constant use for close to a year.

The desks and all other furniture had been hastily moved aside, brushed to the corner without much consideration to make room for several cauldrons and strange looking stones with runes cared in all sides of them.

It had taken months to travel around the world and find all of them, and then more month to correctly learn what runes to carve and how to put the power behind carving them.

Then there had been all the potions to brew, difficult things to make and extremely foul tasting like all useful potions were. They did however prepare his body so he didn't end up scattering himself into a million particles when he tried the jump, and for that Harry supposed he should be thankful.

In the center of the circle of runes, moving his wand in a complicated sweeping pattern and chanting, sat Harry. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his eyebrows furrowed with concentration has he continued the spell work.

It was almost time.

A strange anticipation hummed through him, something he could only compare to going to Hogwarts for the first time, yet it was entirely different too—more intense.

He finished another long arc and finally was able to stop, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat away that had been about to drop in his eyes.

"Fifteen minutes right?" He asked Albus, looking at the full moon outside.

"Yes," Albus answered, his voice having a somewhat strange quality to it.

Harry swallowed nodding somewhat awkwardly as he was unsure of how exactly to say his last words to _that _world's Albus Dumbledore, even if it was just his portrait.

"Thanks headmaster...for everything." He said, feeling it somewhat stupid and inadequate but at the same time unable to come up with any other words.

Dumbledore though seemed to understand. "I hope you find a better life there Harry," he said quietly. "I hope wherever you do, if I am there, that I am wiser and tell you more this time instead of leaving you to figure it out on your own so much."

"Yeah me too," Harry added wryly before he could stop himself.

Dumbledore however just chuckled lightly.

They were silent a moment before Harry spoke again, "I know that I didn't always...like everything you did...but headmaster, I really hope wherever I'm going that there's an Albus Dumbledore there."

Albus, his blue eyes a little watery, smiled, "Thank you Harry."

Harry looked over at the clock on the opposite wall behind him. "It's time," he said, a little breathlessly. His stomach was flipping with anticipation and he had never felt quite as much hope has he did in that moment.

Dumbledore nodded, and together they both started chanting. Albus chanting with him even though as a portrait he had no power.

The last thing Harry saw before he closed his eyes was the smiling face of his old headmaster. He pictured Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Tonks, Mad-Eye, McGonagall, Remus, Sirius, Hermione and Ron has a sharp tug, almost like a portkey, began to build in his core before he felt the strangest sensation of being dragged away.

OoOoOo

"Wakey wakey..."

Harry wanted to reach up and slap away whoever was making such an annoying sing song voice and disrupting his sleep, but he found a peculiar heavy dose soreness mixed with his usual morning lethargic nature deterred him.

He briefly wondered who on earth was insane enough to chance the old deserted school grounds and come in Hagrid's hut to bother him. However in his state between sleep and wakefulness, one which was waning toward sleep, he couldn't hold on to the thought long enough to ponder it.

He was just falling back into deep sleep when a hand reached out and shook his shoulder boisterously.

Snapping his eyes open, Harry was blinded by the sunlight.

He groaned and reached up to cover his eyes, noting with a start that his groan hadn't sounded like him, well not like he had sounded since he had finished puberty anyhow.

"Oi sleeping beauty finally decide to crack an eye?" A boy's voice asked.

"Looks like it," another one responded.

Rubbing his eyes Harry chanced a glance at his surroundings, which currently consisted of three teenage boys crouched around him.

Everything then came rushing back to him, and knowing he was in a different world, he sat up abruptly, slightly alarmed. He didn't recognize two of them, and the third did seem vaguely familiar but he found he couldn't recall exactly where.

"Er...hello?" He questioned, noting again that his voice was certainly higher pitched that it had been when he left, by a lot.

"Hello there," one of them replied, seeming friendly enough.

"Watcha ya doin' sleepin' in the street?" He asked. They all looked to be around thirteen but not much older.

"Um..." Harry trailed off, looking beyond them to see where he was.

He was lying in the street right beside the sidewalk. Uniform but neat houses surrounded him and it was the image of a pristine suburbia that he always associated with prison after his younger years.

It was remembering those that his head whipped around frantically only to catch sight of the innocent enough looking number four and realize exactly where he was.

He stood, brushing himself off and feeling the weight of the gazes from the three boys who were still studying him studiously.

It was when he looked up and caught sight again of the boy he found the most familiar that he remembered.

"Piers Polkiss?" He asked, taking in the rat faced boy who was almost unfamiliar with his much more pleasant countenance.

"Yeah?" The boy, Piers, asked, looking puzzled.

"Wow," Harry muttered to himself, looking down at his own smaller hand a little disbelievingly and ignoring the glances shared by Peirs and his three friends that clearly indicated they were beginning to think he was in need of being committed.

"How old are you?" He asked, snapping his attention back to them abruptly.

"Um—thirteen," Piers answered, completely bewildered by the seemingly random question.

"Thirteen? Really?" Harry muttered to himself, inspecting what he could see of his own self once more. Piers certainly looked thirteen, and judging by the heat outside Harry deduced that he was either just recently twelve or about to be.

Looking down at his body he did not believe it. It seemed _too_ small, sure he had never been big, especially in those years but this, he thought, seemed more like eleven.

'_He did find in the fifth world he traveled to that he was five years younger than his brother, the one that he had been one year younger than in every other world.'_

The headmaster's words sounded in his mind but Harry shook his head. Forcing himself to believe that he was simply more of a midget than he had believe when he was twelve he re-focused on the boys in front of him.

"Right...well I'll be going then, um—thanks for, y'know, waking me up and all." Harry said awkwardly.

He walked away, not sure at all where he was going but knowing it wasn't private drive, and left three teens behind who would mutter about the strange boy they had found sleeping in the drive way for years to come.

OoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall had always taken her job has deputy headmistress very seriously. Especially the task of making sure each letter was sent out to each and every single first year.

The school year of 1992, was no different. She personally signed each one, all the while keeping an eye on the registry while she went down the list and making sure that each name was taken care of.

The registry was powerfully enchanted by the founders themselves and never missed a child—something the school took great pride in.

She had just finished the last name, Xavier Zeller, and was ready to drink a hot cup of tea and relax in her quarters.

However being the cautious witch she was, before leaving to retire for the night, the scrolled back to the top of the registry and began double checking that each name had been marked off.

"Adams..Atkins...Bennet..." She muttered to herself while she worked. It all seemed in good order until she arrived to the P's.

She was so tired from the days work she was barely managing to keep her eyes open, but yet they widened to an impossible degree when she came across a name she was certain had not been there two hours ago.

_Harry J. Potter_, sat proudly written and unmarked between Nicholas A. Peters and Gertrude R. Pullman.

She put her hand to her heart as if it would slow down it's rapid beating. Images of a happy baby with a tuft of wild black hair raced in front of her eyes as the memories flooded back to her.

But so did the sadness of watching the same child be laid beside his mother in a casket so small it should have never been necessary.

She took a few calming breaths and blinked several times but the name was still there.

Clutching the scroll tightly she rose from her seat, walking shakily to the door and out of her office until she had reached the headmaster's office.

"Blood flavored peanut chocolate clusters," She said sharply to the gargoyle, slightly annoyed at Albus for picking such a long password.

She didn't bother with knocking in the state that she was in and Albus looked up from where he was sitting at his desk when she entered, slightly surprised to see her.

She marched over to his desk and handed him the roll. He gave her a slightly quizzical glance but took it and looked over it.

The quizzical expression remained before morphing into shock when he too saw the name.

He looked at her, sharing a trouble glance before pulling out his wand. Muttering several charms he checked the scroll repeatedly for any deficiencies, but found nothing wrong. The register was working perfectly.

"Minerva, could you please contact James Potter for me. Tell him to come in...Tell him it's urgent."

**Please Review**

**A tremendous thank you to everyone who did review last chapter. **

**A very short chapter but where I felt it was best left off for this one, the next is far longer. **


	3. The Knight Bus

**Chapter Three—The Knight Bus **

Harry rummaged in his pockets, praying that gallons was indeed a currency in this world has he pulled out those he had brought with him. He was currently swimming in his robe it was so oversized for him, and the pockets were somewhere a little below his knees where they had been at his waist.

He hoped that being new to the world and in an area where no one was registered would just leave his underage magic labeled as an 'unkown witch or wizard' has he cast a few simple glamour charms over his appearance.

He wasn't sure why exactly he bothered, it wasn't as if anyone would know him, but he decided it wasn't a bad idea, just in case. He was surprised to find himself exhausted from just the small amount of magic, and that it took him an intense amount of concentration simply cast the small glamour he did. He had been planning on altering his body to but found he didn't have the magic to do it. He begrudgingly remembered that he _was _in a younger body and no longer had his mature magical core. His immensely powerful and needed to defeat Voldemort mature magical core. _This, _he thought has he pondered the years until seventeen again, might be a problem. True it would grow every year, but it would not be until seventeen that he would reach his full magical potential.

However remembering his third year patronus charm that had saved himself and Sirius, he re-assured himself that soon he would still be very capable just not has powerful for a while.

So with the tiny changes he had made blonde hair, blue eyes, and a little more rounded chin, he hailed the Knight Bus hoping it was hailed the same way in that world or even existed.

A grin took over his face when suddenly his vision was filled with the purple double decker. A much younger Stan Shunpike than he had ever known in life stood there, some how managing to look bored and overeager at the same time.

"'Knight bus transportation for stranded witch or wizard, how may I be of service to you?" Stan said, in a rehearsed monotone.

"Um—I would like to go the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry said, hating the questioning not that entered his voice. Just because he was in a child's body did not mean he still wasn't a man, he reminded himself.

"I mean—I'll be going to the Leaky Cauldron," he said more authoritatively.

Stan looked at him questioningly, "A bit young to be off by yourself ain't you lad?"

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Because you're _so_ much older," he replied sardonically.

Stan blushed, standing up straighter and puffing out his chest, "I'll have you know that I'm sixteen! You are what—ten?"

"Twelve!" Harry replied indignantly, even though he wasn't certain himself. He was really hoping it was the glamour of a more rounded chin making him look a little younger and not that his body, which he hadn't altered at all, really appeared that young.

"Whatever. Look—I have the gold, can you take me there or not." Harry said impatiently, finding his temper just has short has always no matter what body he was in.

"_Can _we take you, of course we _can _take you! Get in here then!" Stan said, ushering him in the door. Harry fell back into an open seat has the bus sped away abruptly.

He settled in the seat, trying to get comfortable amongst the bus's erratic movements. He was too tired from the magic to do anything else.

"You sure you're wantin' to go the Leaky are you?" Stan asked, turning to face him from where he stood steadily, Harry wasn't sure how, by the door.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" Harry replied, irritably and wishing the man would leave him alone.

Stan pointed his finger at the woman across from him.

The old witch he was indicating read a newspaper with the headline, _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Strikes Terror at the Attack on Diagon Alley._

"They'll probably still be _cleaning _that one up," Stan said, a note of superiority in his voice as if the knowledge of the attack had proven he indeed _much _older than Harry.

Harry however was no longer paying him much attention. _So Albus was right, _he thought grimly, wondering what else was waiting for him in this world.

The bus stopped again, the motion jarring Harry forward and almost pitching him out of his seat. He scowled at the back of Stan's head as if it was his fault.

But Stan was too busy repeating his monotone rehearsed greeting to notice Harry's glare. "Knight bus transportation for stranded witch or wizard, how may I be of service to you?"

"Hogsmeade please," the man replied confidently, if a little wearily. _That, _Harry thought, was how he had meant to sound, instead of the doubtful, questioning, childish tone he had used instead. He promised himself that he was not about to regress to his twelve year old confidence level simply because that was his physical development.

He shut his eyes, resting them. He was still tired in the after effects of the few glamour charms he had done, something that was depressing when he really thought about it. He decided not to though, after-all—there was nothing he could do about his magical core no matter how much he dwelled on it.

He cracked an eye open to see the old witch who had been reading had fallen asleep and the new passenger was now reading one of the newspapers as well.

He drifted off into a light sleep but was soon interrupted by Stan shaking his shoulder hard enough to dislocate it.

"What the—" He began, jumping out of his seat, startled by the gesture.

Harry glared at Stan slightly who looked at him unapologetically. "That will be a gallon." He said.

Harry fished out the coin while maintaining his glare, "It's a shame y'know that you have such a monopoly on the Wizard Bus system that allows you to shake your customers awake like that and not lose them. Maybe I'll start one someday."

"A monopoly?" Stan asked quizzically.

"Never mind," Harry waved if off, exiting the bus and making his way across the street to the Leaky Cauldron.

Stan watched him leave. "What a strange little blighter," he muttered to himself.

The bus started again and he turned back to another customer who was still immersed in the daily prophet he had picked up.

"Hogsmeade will be our next stop Mr. Potter." Stan told him, glancing at his watch although it was broken and irrelevant to Hogsmeade being next on the list anyhow.

The man lowered the news paper, revealing black hair barely specked with a few grey hairs and the most tired eyes that seemed as if they had just seen _too _much.

"Thank you," the man replied, polite enough but with little life to his voice.

Stan nodded and turned back to his post at the door, the strange ten year or twelve year old still on his mind.

OoOoOo

Harry walked upstairs, glad to be away from Tom the bartender's questioning looks at his lone status combined with his young appearance, and made his way into his room.

He had enough money with him, he thought, to at least buy his school supplies.

Harry looked out of the window and out into muggle London, it was strange—everything _looked_ the same, but nothing was quite the same.

Dumbledore had told him that whatever world he was in was likely to have a Hogwarts, all of the one's Scott had traveled to had, and it was likely to have a Registrar just like the one the one in his world had had.

Which meant even being new to the world that he would be receiving his letter soon. He wondered what that meant for the people who saw his name, a person who was probably supposed to be dead, on the list. Did anyone even check that? He was still hoping he had come to a world where he had just never existed, that, Harry thought, would much easier to deal with than one he had died in.

Deciding there was nothing he could do about it until it came, Harry laid down on the bed to rest and tried to ignore all of the questions in his mind, that he just couldn't answer any better than that he would have to wait and see.

OoOoOo

James Potter was exhausted. But then again he never felt anything but, except those times he had the adrenaline from a duel to the death. Those times however, has sadly often has they were, were not enough to stop his life from being described has—exhausted. He often reflected that it was perhaps seeking those moments of his mind focusing on nothing else, that he had become so reckless in seeking those duels.

Regardless, there was no epic duel happening has he sat down that night, alone in his old haunted house to nurse a bottle of fire whiskey.

Sirius and Remus both had tried countless times to get him to sell the thing or at least move to one of the countless other properties his old pureblood inheritance had given him.

They were convinced it wasn't helping his sanity or something like that. On any account though James ignored them.

He still lived in Godric's Hollow, although the house looked remarkably different. It had always changed over the years.

When he and Lily had been newly weds the furniture had been sparse and what they did have rarely used except for the bed. Those had been the times they had always been on the run, recklessly in one mission after another for the Order.

Then they had settled in somewhat, an unexpected pregnancy sending the before sparse house into an accelerated process of becoming a home. Furniture had been brought in and a full fridge of food had replaced the often half stocked one they'd had.

They sat on the couch eating spaghetti he had made and she slapped his arm playfully when he once again suggest that they name the baby, 'Actual proof I had sex with Lily Evans.'

But then it had all come to an end.

The healer said that sometimes those things just happened but it did little to console their crushed hopes and the pain left where their love had been growing for their baby, the one that would never be born.

The furniture of course stayed, although for months it was more of a sad reminder than anything else. Lily had cried and James had looked around with a furrowed brow feeling more powerless than ever. A feeling he hated.

They had quickly returned to the old pattern of a life style so fast they were hardly home and of eating their dinners at friend's places or often the Order headquarters.

Lily had stopped looking so sad and James had slowly stopped thinking about what might've been, quite so much. It still came back to him late at nights when he would lie awake, looking at the ceiling and wondering why things happened the way they did.

Why was Voldemort allowed to be born but yet his daughter died in the womb at six months? He couldn't make sense of it.

However, life did go on and they found themselves slowly catching back up with it. But then it happened again. They hadn't been trying and once again it was a surprise. James was beginning to think that magical contraceptive devices had a vendetta against Lily.

But after seeing her beaming smile again, the one that he hadn't seen in so long he had almost forgotten just how _much _it lit up her face, he didn't say anything.

She was ecstatic and seemed to carry none of the doubts born from the last one with her. She threw herself just has enthusiastically if not more into the nursery and the rest of the house. Soon having it look warm and cozy again instead of the relatively unused place it had been.

James was always supportive, if more reserved. When the Healer asked them if they wanted to know the sex he had told her no, before Lily could even answer. She had given him a questioning look, he had been all too eager to find out the last time, but he had just turned away and re-affirmed politely that they wanted it to be a surprise. Healer Grisham hadn't questioned them anymore about it and Lily didn't mention, as if sensing he didn't want to talk about it.

He didn't want to know anymore about the baby than he to. Remembering the pain of the last one he couldn't make himself give his heart again like he had the first, it had simply hurt too badly the last time.

However that had all changed when the bawling, quite ugly really as Sirius so eloquently stated, red skinned little thing had been placed in his arms. It was a boy.

They had named him Harry after Lily's father and for a while everything had been perfect.

Sirius, despite his claims that it was ruining his bachelor image, loved Harry and was every bit the doting Godfather that all of his friends had suspected he would be beneath his 'too cool for babies' persona. Remus had been by often at first but has the war dragged on was often gone for long periods of time.

Peter they rarely saw anymore either. It hadn't stopped James and Lily though, and while James often tried to force Lily to stay home with Harry so that if something _did _happen he would not be an orphan, she rarely complied. And so it was that the two of them often disappeared on Order missions, Minevra watching the child who even had the strictest teacher Hogwart's had ever seen wrapped around his tiny finger.

The house had become a mess with baby toys laying about and the kitchen always in a state full of both food and disorder. Pictures had lined the walls of a little black haired boy with bright green eyes and two smiling adults who were clearly his parents.

Every time Harry did any ordinary baby thing James would boast and tell every one he knew about it, his pride in his son greater than he had ever had in himself which has Lily would often say, was really saying something. And when Harry did things that weren't ordinary for a baby, then both he and Lily would gush about their powerful, smart little son who they were both sure would change the wizarding world someday.

Of course they hadn't realized how haunting those half joking comments could be.

Lily had always considered Divination to be absolute nonsense in the best of circumstances, and James had whole heartedly agreed with her. They had scoffed when they met the woman who had unwittingly brought down a dark fate upon them and while he had paled a little when she predicted Lily's death, Minerva had rolled her eyes and confirmed that she did indeed predict everyone's death and it was nothing to be concerned about.

Then again Minerva had no idea that fraud or not, apparently some trance had brought to her a prophecy that had changed their lives.

Dumbledore had offered of course but then he would have had to relinquish that role for the Order headquarters, so both James and Lily agreed to find someone else. They wouldn't ask that of the Order.

And so after some thought they had made Peter the secret keeper. After all, no one would suspect him. Sirius was right, he was the perfect diversion while Peter remained the true secret keeper who no would guess.

The call had come, a protein charm on a parchment that all Order members had, the Bones family was entirely surrounded by death eaters. It had called all Order members who could come to try and save them.

James of course had gone, Edgar having been a good friends of his at school and someone who had saved his life once on the battle field. He had repaid the favor and after a grueling few hours the Order had beaten them back, only after Mad-Eye had lost his life in the fight. Something that alarmed Dumbledore tremendously with Mad-Eye being the Longbottom's secret keeper.

He needn't have worried though, has James returned home that night to a dark mark above his house, it became obvious that it was not the Longbottoms Voldemort had chosen.

He had never thought Lily or Harry's eyes would ever look dim. They were always bright, whether they were angry, sad, happy or just waking up, they were always bright.

He had never been so bitter to be proven wrong.

The next time he had seen Peter had been in a duel and in his darker moments he wished he had found a way to take the rat alive so he would have had to suffer Azkaban. But like Mad-Eye had often said—what was done, was done.

The house now was still covered in pictures, but the kitchen instead of food was stocked more with liquor and there was a vacancy about the place that had never been there even when Lily and James had been running about too much to ever be home.

The Nursery was still has it was, sitting behind a locked door it had not been touched. Remus had tried once to put it away, and he had been blasted through a window when James had found him in the attempt.

None of them had tried to go into the Nursery since then. James still did some nights when he really had drank far, far too much and found himself in that time apologizing to the wall and sobbing on a huddle in the floor right where they had been laying.

A few more years had passed with the exact same routine. Sirius had tried to send him on a date once, about seven years after they had died. James had refused to go.

He was still too haunted by her to even consider it, it would be unfair to whatever date he did have and too hard for him. He wasn't sure he ever would, a decade later and it all just seemed so fresh still and entirely too painful to even think about starting over. And if Remus and Sirius were honest with themselves he thought they too would admit that they couldn't see him with anyone else either.

So instead he had thrown himself into the Order more so than ever. Every time there was lead on a possible death eater, James was there, every time a fellow member needed help, James was there, every time there was a suicidally dangerous mission, James was there.

Even dealing with the apparently reformed Severus Snape, James was there, albeit resentfully on those occasions.

The years had passed in a swirl of duels, fire-whiskey and depression, there seeming little change from day to day.

Molly Weasley after meeting him in the Order a few years ago began bringing him food and inviting him for dinner at her home every now and then. She had in a way adopted him has another little brother to the two she had already had, one who in her opinion needed some fattening up and someone to look out for him.

She and her husband Arthur were two of the greatest people James had ever met, close to Sirius and Remus on his list, but yet he couldn't bring himself to go to their home more than the once he had. It reminded him too much of what he had wanted with Lily.

Although sometimes on Molly's pity visits when she brought the food, she would bring her youngest Ginny to visit the 'sad Potter man,' has the little girl had informed James her brothers called him. Molly had been entirely embarrassed when the seven year old had unabashedly said it, but it had just brought another tired, and yes very sad, smile to James's face.

Over the years he had come to have a certain kinship with the little girl through Quidditch. When she would come to his home in the last couple of years when it became the Order Headquarters, he would often take her into the back yard and give her a flying lesson. Although he knew Molly had wanted to she hadn't protested, he supposed she knew on some level it was something he had always wanted to do with his own child and never would be able to.

It wasn't an Order night however, and there was no one at Godric's Hollow other than himself. He generally didn't drink much, or at least hadn't since three years after everything had happened and he began to realize his drunkenness was not helping the Order. After that he had sobered up for the most part, but on the nights that the demons took over and he did drink, he drank a lot.

He was several glasses of fire whiskey and deep, if starting to become drunken and nonsensical reflections about death, into the night when the patronus had come telling him he was needed urgently at Hogwarts.

Of course James hadn't been in a state to really appreciate it's message or travel anywhere.

So it had been that morning he remembered receiving it and with a sense of shame gotten dressed and ready to go to Hogwarts. He did re-assure himself with the knowledge that if it had been unable to be settled with out him, that whatever it was they would have came and dragged his drunken ass out and where ever he was needed.

He boarded the knight bus and sat down to the read the paper. He had been at the attack on Diagon Alley two days ago and the thought still made him swell with anger. It had been one of the things he had loved has a child, going there, and now so much of it was a wreck.

He didn't understand what these pureblood bigots thought they would accomplish with Voldemort, it wasn't the muggleborns that were ruining their world but the prejudiced old families who could not let go of some silly notion of superiority.

Lily, he remembered sadly, he had always thought to be far smarter than himself, and yet who was the pureblood? It was a load of hogwash, all of it.

A young boy who had been napping was shaken awake by Stan. James sympathized with him, he had fallen asleep a few times in the last year and Stan always shook one awake with enough force it felt like, to dislocate a shoulder.

"It's a shame y'know that you have such a monopoly on the Wizard Bus system that allows you to shake your customers awake like that and not lose them. Maybe I'll start one someday."

James mouth quirked a small bit at the admittedly somewhat snide reply. The kid, he thought, must have been having one bad morning to be so irritable.

The bus stopped and took off again, jarring him in his seat a little has usual.

"Hogsmeade will be our next stop Mr. Potter." Stan addressed him.

He looked up from the paper, "Thank you."

He often later thought, that maybe if he had just had the smallest inkling of what it was he was being called to Hogwarts for, it might not have been _quite _as much as a bludger to the head.

**Please Review.**

**A big thank you to everyone who did. **


	4. One of Those Nights

**Chapter Four—One of Those Nights **

"Right er—see you later?" Sirius asked, trying to keep his voice from being too strained. He hated when they did this.

"You'll call me right?" She asked, he wasn't sure what her name was. Anna? Or maybe Tanna? Something like that. No...Heidi! That was it—Heidi. He wasn't sure why he had thought Anna. Anna was the bird from last week, he realized, unaware that Heidi had been talking during his entire contemplation of the name enigma.

She was looking at him expectantly as if waiting for an answer.

"Oh yeah...of course," he honestly didn't feel _too _guilty as he said it, he felt he had made his intentions clear from the start. Whatever fantasy she had that that would change he would play along with now, but he knew that they both knew what the reality was even if she wanted to pretend otherwise.

"Okay," she replied, nodding and looking just a little forlorn. She left with a shrug and a smile, not even bothering to leave her phone number despite the charade.

It was fine with Sirius, one less piece of paper to bin after all.

He locked the door behind her before turning back to his flat. Remus was due to be back anytime he now.

Deciding to wait for him he lazily lounged on the couch, wishing James would take their invitation to the spare room and give up Godric's Hollow. Sirius couldn't go in that house for an hour without the past haunting him, he wasn't sure how James even tolerated it at all, let alone lived there.

He decided that when Remus came back perhaps they would drop by. It was midnight but he knew James would be awake.

The Marauders it seemed never had lost their collective insomnia that in happier times had been used to sneak around the castle after curfew.

_Except Peter_, Sirius reflected bitterly. Peter had always been the eight hour sleeper, the one who couldn't stay up with the rest of them who couldn't fall asleep.

James of course had left he and Remus on their own during the late nights for a few years, when he was with Lily. But then after _everything_ had happened, he had re-joined them again, getting less sleep than ever.

Sirius scanned the prophet before tossing it aside, bored with it's same half truths and propaganda that it spewed every week.

He heard the door open and click shut quietly, prompting him to sit up slightly to see who entered.

"Oh, it's you." He said disinterestedly, his tone jokingly haughty.

Remus rolled his eyes, placing his suit case at the door. Order work had been hard on him lately, it had on everyone.

"So...how is my favorite cousin?" Sirius drawled. He was rewarded with another exasperated look from Remus.

"Sirius—"

"You two spend some _quality_ time together?" He smirked.

Remus shook his head, "Will you ever grow up?"

"There'll be time for that when I'm dead," Sirius snorted, swinging his feet around to be fully in a seated position.

"So—" Sirius began, earnestly about to ask an actual Order related question.

"For the last time, there is nothing going on between Dora and I!" Remus exclaimed.

Sirius laughed, "I actually wasn't even asking about that."

Remus gave him a disbelieving look, sitting across from him in the chair by the fire place which he lit and had roaring with a few flicks of his wand.

"But now that you mention it—so it's Dora now is it? Does she have a nick-name for you too?"

"Sirius—"

"Is it Mus? No, too stupid, Tonks is better than that. Rem—us, well that's just your entire name. Wait...it's _Remy_ isn't it?" He looked over at Remus and was met with a stony expression but a confirming silence.

"She calls you Remy!" He laughed raucously, probably more than the occasion called but Sirius needed all the laughs he could find with their current circumstances.

"That is beside the point," Remus answered somewhat snootily.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "So did you make any progress?"

"No," Remus sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair in a manner he had unconsciously picked up from James in stressful times.

"I'm not sure that even the most advanced runes in the world could help really," he said defeatedly.

"We'll find something, even if it isn't runes," Sirius said, trying to find the optimism he had once been known for, it just sounded forced now.

"Dora—don't say _anything_— was so sure they would."

"Honestly Hogwarts is well warded without it anyhow, not to mention Dumbledore."

"Yes but Dumbledore is gone so much now with Order work, can you imagine the massacre it would be if _they _ever entered the school?" Remus asked, worry written across his face.

Sirius nodded, sighing while he looked at the flames in the fire place. "We'll figure something out...I was thinking we should go see James tonight."

Remus nodded, "I was too, I hate him being all alone in that house all the time."

They were both a long moment, staring into the fire.

"Cup of tea and then we'll go?" Remus asked.

"I was more thinking rum," Sirius supplied.

"I'm sure James could use a glass too." Remus agreed.

They arrived a few minutes later with a faint pop on the door step at Godric's Hollow. Sirius as usual entered the little cottage without bothering to knock. He was surprised to find a completely empty house.

"James?" Remus called, jogging upstairs to check the bedrooms for him. He was not there.

Sirius walked in the kitchen and found an empty bottle of fire whiskey. He held it up to Remus when he entered.

"Oh." Comprehension dawned on Remus's face, closely followed by the sad, resigned expression that he wore so much.

"One of those nights I s'pose..." Sirius muttered, inspecting the glass further. "It's dry, which means it must have been finished at least a few hours ago."

"Well that's...something." Remus commented.

"Reckon we should find him?" Sirius placed the bottle down and banished the rum they had brought back to their flat. He was sure James wouldn't be in a state for _more _alcohol that night.

"Of course." Remus nodded, just like Sirius had known he would. They searched the entire house again in case they had missed him, but he wasn't there. Not even in the nursery which took an unlocking charm to enter.

Sirius and Remus shared a sad expression, if he wasn't in the house than they knew where he likely was.

Remus opened the door and Sirius followed him outside, they walked in silence through the town and by the church until they reached the cemetery.

They weren't surprised to find him there, hunched over the graves as if he was far older than his thirty one years.

They stood behind him silently, unsure of what to say. The light from the half moon cast an eerie glow over the place and the air was uncomfortably warm.

"Just when you think you have a hold on things they just..." James mutter his voice gruff. Although he had not turned to see them they knew he knew they were there standing beside his kneeled form.

"...slip away." He finished even more subdued.

"Yeah, sometimes..." Sirius said softly, unsure how to respond.

"I mean...he's not even really _my _son!" James laughed bitterly.

Sirius reeled back, sharing an equally shocked look with Remus. Remus put a hand on James shoulder, "James are you alright?"

"Just_ keen_...real fucking keen..." He responded venomously, still not turning away from the grave.

Sirius and Remus shared a troubled look again. "He just comes here—and—and...what does he want? For me to welcome him with open arms! He wasn't the boy I held! He's—he's not him!" James said, breaking down into short harsh sobs at the end.

"James what are you—" Remus began to ask.

"I don't even know him." James interjected, ignoring Sirius.

"Know who?" Sirius asked exasperatedly.

"_Harry James Potter." _James spat.

Remus's hand fell away from James shoulder at the same time Sirius dropped to his knees beside James.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, looking at James with a devastated expression. He hated nights like this, and he had a feeling that this one might set a new standard for the terribleness with the way James's was talking—like he was completely out of his mind.

"Mate, I don't know what's gotten into you tonight but—" Sirius began.

"Dumbledore thinks he knows where he is too." James rambled on as if Sirius hadn't even spoken.

"...He says he heard word from the knight bus that there was some kid traveling on it there and he checked with Tom. No one knows the kid. It could just be some boy I guess, but Dumbledore thinks it's him."

"_Who? _Who does Dumbledore think it is?" Remus asked exasperatedly.

Sirius was simply watching his face with a troubled expression.

"Harry Potter." James mumbled again.

A tear slipped down Sirius's cheek. He hated this, hated all of it. Sometimes the guilt just ate at him when he saw James like this. There hadn't been that many occasions in recent years, but they always came sometimes and every time he always felt suffocated and wondered what the price would be to fix the past.

"James...Harry isn't at the Leaky...James you can't drink so much anymore." Remus said softly, his voice cracking a little where stumbled when he almost said the damming words he had had to re-iterate some nights, 'Harry is dead.' Remus hated saying it, but Sirius wouldn't and sometimes the harsh truth had to be given again on nights where the whiskey and the past were too much.

"No..._my son_ is _dead_ but Harry Potter is at the Leaky Cauldron." James bit out bitterly.

Sirius glanced at Remus, both of them lost. There had never been a night this bad.

"Alright mate, why don't you come stay at our place tonight?" Sirius asked, putting an arm around James and dragging him to his feet.

James was still staring at the grave, his eyes unfocused but not in drunkenness but as if seeing something far away.

"Dumbledore wanted to wait until the morning." He muttered while they ambled back down the street to the cottage, Remus and Sirius on either of his arms.

"He said we would look into it then...tomorrow...but I want answers...I want to know." James continued, still sounding utterly insane.

"You will know James...just wait until tomorrow." Sirius muttered back having no clue what his best mate was going on about.

"No...I want answers."

"Listen to Dumbledore James." Remus muttered to him through gritted teeth while he smiled at the old woman they were passing on the street who was giving them a suspicious look as they drug James home.

"Yeah mate...he is _generally _right." Sirius supported, mostly just hoping to prevent James from doing anything crazy while he was drunk.

"No...I _need _to know..." James muttered, pulling away from them with a surprising amount of coordination for his state but Remus and Sirius held on.

"If it's important it'll keep until morning." Remus assured him, they were almost back to the cottage now.

James who seemed to have given up the fight stumbled into the living room with Remus and Sirius right behind him.

He muttered something again but neither of them heard what exactly it was. In all honesty if it wasn't for his insane ramblings Sirius wouldn't have thought him very drunk. A little certainly, but Sirius noticed, he was actually walking just fine on his own.

Nevertheless Remus started a pot of tea, thinking it might help the situation at least a little.

They both took their eyes off James while Sirius rummaged for something to eat and Remus made the tea.

And so it was that both were surprised when they glanced up to see James standing in the fire place with floo powder in his hand, clearly, without a trace of drunken slurring, stating, "The Leaky Cauldron."

Sirius scowled after he left while Remus stared at the fire place clearly taken aback.

"_Fucking hell."_ Sirius growled, throwing the package of muggle food he had been about to eat at the wall. It hit with a splat and the bag opened but he didn't even consider cleaning it with the mood he was in.

"Well come on then, let's go round him up before he causes too much trouble." Remus said tiredly stepping forward and dropping a bit of powder in before Sirius followed him.

OoOoO

"Tom you wouldn't have happened to see James come through here would you?" Remus asked politely, ever the diplomat.

"James Potter?" Tom asked warily, stopping his cleaning of the shot glasses to look at them.

'_No the other James we look after—" _Sirius began to think rather acerbically but Remus replied before he could voice it.

"Yes, that's the one. He seems a bit...we just need to find him."

"Oh." Tom paused a minute, swirling the rag around the glass. "He came through here just a minute ago actually, didn't say anything just kept walking—right up them stairs." Tom gestured to the creaky wooden things leading the rent out rooms.

Tom continued before Remus could thank him and leave.

"I figured he might be meetin' a lady friend or sometin', this time of night."

Sirius thought this assumption was idiotic since James wouldn't so much as budge from his worshipping of Lily's memory to consider it. He cringed immediately after thinking it—it seemed so disrespectful, and if any woman deserved that he knew it would have been Lily. But still, sometimes despite the callousness he felt about it, he thought ten years was enough. But anytime anyone else said it he would grow furious at them, he had a hard time admitting to himself that he thought so too.

But then a picture of those two pairs of green eyes would always haunt him and he felt so guilty for wanting to forget them, for wanting James to forget them that it would suffocate him.

As much as he wanted his old mate back, he could acknowledge that for some pain maybe there would never be enough time.

"No, that's not it I'm afraid. But thank you for telling us Tom," Remus replied, tipping his head and drawing Sirius away from his thoughts and back into the nightmare of reality.

"Lets go get him," Remus sighed as he turned away. Sirius nodded, not having much energy to do anything else. Sometimes it felt like the vitality was slowly being sucked away from him by a much more sinister force than age. The war always expected a price from everyone after-all.

They walked upstairs going down the halls and looking for James. They finally spotted him staring intently at door number eleven as if it contained all the answers to the universe.

they had almost reached him when he looked up and spotted them. Sirius sent a stunning hex his way but always quick on the draw James had the door unlocked an had gone barging in before they could stop him.

They ran to reach him before he woke some poor soul. He was standing in the room, which had a little light streaming in from the moonlight through the window.

It just contained a bed, a small dresser and a corner chair like most of the rooms did at the Leaky.

James however wasn't looking at any of the furniture, his gaze was rested on the bed.

Sirius walked over to him ready to drag him out of the room, it would have been easy to do with him being so transfixed by the bed as he was.

What he didn't expect was to turn his head and see something in the corner of his eye.

He whipped his head so quickly around it almost gave him whip lash.

He certainly didn't expect to see someone sitting there, clearly having just awoken, but staring intently at the three of them as if they were mythical beings.

He never expected to see green eyes like that again.

This time it was Remus who said exactly what was on his mind, _"Fucking hell." _

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